Collateral Damages
by RhineGold
Summary: Mr. Gold and Henry find an unlikely ally in one another when faced with a dangerous situation.
1. Teaser

**Collateral Damages**

_NB: I'm writing this episode in something like a TV show format - teaser, four acts, and a tag. Trying to put my degree in fairy tales to some kind of use._

**Teaser:**

Storybrooke was nestled in white. Mr. Gold stepped out into the sun, pausing to lock his front door carefully. He squinted briefly, despite his sunglasses, looking up and down the street before setting off down the sidewalk.

The temperature had dropped several degrees overnight, and, despite the bright sun of late morning, it was still well below freezing. Snow had blown in during the night, piling up in huge drifts throughout the town. The streets were nearly deserted, cars mostly still buried beneath the snowdrifts, unusual for this time of day.

Pausing to tug his coat tighter around his chest, he continued walking slowly down the cleared portion of the sidewalk, testing each step carefully with his cane. At this rate, he realized, it would take him the better part of the morning to reach his shop. Not for the first time, he wished for a car, but he generally preferred walking to driving. Cars never sat well with him – too much power for too little effort.

As he rounded the corner, he realized someone was walking hurriedly behind him, but he did not turn around. Finally, a young, dark-headed man lunged into his path, making him pull up short.

"Thomas Stockhard," He said, voice clearly carrying his displeasure.

The man before him was dressed in a shabby coat that would have been suitable for an early fall, not a late winter. His hair was growing out of a short cut, ragged and curling around his ears. There were dark circles under his eyes and he held up a hand pleadingly. "Mr. Gold, I've been looking to speak with you."

"I don't believe there's anything to speak about, really." He replied, smiling sharply, teeth catching on his dry lips.

"I can get you your money, I swear."

"Terms were quite specific, Mr. Stockhard," He said plainly, side-stepping him and setting out again, moving quicker than he would have liked on the slick sidewalk, trying to leave the man behind.

The man ran after him, voice rising, "Mr. Gold, please! When the storm clears up, I've got some guys coming in from Boston to buy some of my dad's old stuff. We'll get you your money, please."

"I've heard that before." He answered, not pausing. "I've been hearing it for the last four months, I believe."

Stockhard stepped in front of him again, both hands raised. "This time, I really mean it, Mr. Gold! Please... That farm is all my mom and I have! We need it to live on. We've got nowhere else to go."

He stopped then, voice growing harder, face impassive behind his sunglasses. "Then perhaps you should have reconsidered before putting the deed up as collateral."

"Please, just give me a little more time! A week – a few more days! I'll get your money, I swear!"

"No, I'm afraid not, Mr. Stockhard. Too many second chances – bad for business." He continued around him a second time, shaking his hair from his face, clearly annoyed.

"Gold, please!" Stockhard reached out, grabbing him by the arm, spinning him back around.

Gold snarled as he was thrown off-balance, staggering for a moment, held up only by the grip on his arm as he tried to stick his cane under him. The wood found only ice for a moment and he slipped sideways with it, only to be caught by a hand under his other arm, balancing him.

"Is there a problem here?" Emma Swan stepped between the two men, holding Gold's arm until she was certain he was steady.

"Sheriff Swan," Mr. Gold said serenely, all traces of anger gone from his face and voice. "What a pleasant surprise. No, no, Mr. Stockhard here was just leaving."

The man stared at them both for a long moment, before backing away from them. "This isn't over!" He promised angrily, before turning and jogging away from them.

"What was _that_ all about?" Emma asked, hands on her hips.

"The gentleman owes me quite a bit of money. He had a start-up dairy business fail out from under him after his cattle took sick. In three days, ownership of his farm passes over to me."

"…Of course." She said, rolling her eyes.

"You seem surprised, Sheriff Swan. But I am not in the business of providing assistance for free. He knew that when he levied his farm."

"Maybe, but the guy looked like he could use a break."

"Yes, well. He'll have plenty of time to himself come three days time."

She gave him that look, the one he had come to interpret as _You're a jerk, Mr. Gold._ He smiled brightly in response, looking around at the snow piles surrounding them. "Lovely day, isn't it?" He remarked, before turning and making his way down the sidewalk.

Emma watched him go, shaking her head.


	2. Act One

**Collateral Damages**

_NB: I'm writing this episode in something like a TV show format - teaser, four acts, and a tag. Trying to put my degree in fairy tales to some kind of use._

**Act One:**

**I:**

A young man stared desolately into the small cottage's hearth. Poking at the single tiny coal with a stick, he attempted to coax the embers to catch on the muddy straw scattered around it, with little success.

He turned towards the single bed at the sound of a dry, raking cough. "Mother?" He called, getting to his feet. The cottage was bitterly cold, a drift of snow tumbling in where the thatch had worn down on one corner of the low roof. He pulled his shabby coat tighter about himself, kneeling down beside the low bed. "Mother, do you need water?"

She managed to lift one shaking hand from beneath the nest of ragged blankets, and he stroked her cold, bent fingers. Gently, he leaned her head against his shoulder, holding a tin cup of half-melted snow to her lips. "Drink this, Mother, and you'll feel better."

"Any food today?" She asked softly, limp against him.

He stroked her soft, stringy hair, ashamed at how dirty it had become in the past few weeks. "Not just yet, mother. Milky-white's not given milk for ten days now. I don't know what's to be done for her."

"You'll have to sell her," She said finally, closing her eyes.

"But, Mother, you love that cow."

"She's an old girl. She shouldn't be worked like this. Shouldn't be kept past her use." She said finally, settling back under the blankets.

He smiled bitterly, tucking them around her chin as best he could. "I know. …I'll take her into town and see what can be done for her."

"You're a good lad, Jack," She mumbled, turning into the blankets, another cough wracking her thin frame.

**II:**

By mid-day, the snow had stopped, leaving the world pristine, white, and silent. Jack hated the snow. It made him feel as though all the cheerfulness had been bled out of the world, leaving behind only cold, impersonal meanness.

Milky-white must have agreed, as she tugged restlessly on the frayed rope around her neck. With each step, she made a soft bellow of protest, her bloodshot eyes sad as he determinedly pulled her along.

"Come on, girl. I know, I know. It's cold. It's wet. You'd rather be back in the barn… Come on, now, it's not going to be much longer, I swear."

The dirty brown cow ignored him, sinking her front legs to the ground, making a low, long sound as she fell completely down.

"Oh, no, no, no, no… Don't do that… Please, don't do that!" Jack called, pulling again on the rope. "Milky-white, come on… You have to get up, now! We're almost there…!" He looked down the hill to the town, knowing they were still further away than not.

With a sound like a sigh, the cow slumped further, one last time, and went still. Shaking his head, Jack came back to her, touching her neck and face, feeling no traces of warmth, no stirring of breath.

He sank to his knees, the snow's cold and wet slicing through his threadbare trousers, and put his face in his hands. "Oh, no… no… What am I going to do now?"

Jack let out a sob, staring up at the grey sky miserably. From somewhere behind him, a high, reedy voice called out, "…Perhaps I might be of some… assistance?"

**III:**

Mr. Gold glanced up from the silver he was cleaning as the bell jangled cheerfully, admitting a small, bundled form. "Ah, Henry… To what do I owe the pleasure?" He called, smiling.

Stamping his feet on the provided rug, Henry shook the snow from his hat and coat, pulling them off. "Hey, Mr. Gold. I came to see you. I need your help with something."

The man's smile quirked a bit wider and he leaned both arms on the counter expectantly. "Do you, now? And what might I do for you, sir?"

"You know the walkie talkies you gave Emma?" He asked, fumbling in his backpack for a moment, before withdrawing the batter plastic device. "I…uh… broke mine."

"Oh, dear." He said softly, reaching out to take it when offered. "Well, that is a tragedy, isn't it?" With careful fingers, he prised open the case, revealing a tangle of wires and electronic components, some clearly pressed to one side out of alignment. "Dropped it, did we?"

"From my bedroom window." He said sheepishly, leaning against the counter, eyes hopeful. "Can you fix it?"

He looked at the boy for a long moment, taking in his pink cheeks and tousled, damp hair. His eyes seemed to lower, going more distant, as he smiled more warmly, although faintly. "…Yes, well. Let's see what we can do, shall we?"

**IV:**

"…record snowdrifts encircle the town of Storybrooke, and, with no signs of the snow stopping, residents hunker down for the long haul…"

Emma sighed and thumbed the remote, flicking off the television set. She leaned back in her chair, feet on the desk, arms behind her head. It was surprisingly warm in the sheriff's office, and she'd stripped off her coat and outer sweater.

She told herself she wasn't wasting tax-payers money. There was still a possibility something could go wrong on a day like this, and, truth be told, it was warmer here than in Mary Margaret's house.

Since school had been canceled, the other woman had stayed at home, determined to bake a seemingly endless list of things. Emma had to get out of there, feeling too smothered by the gentle, bubbly domesticity the other woman effortlessly exuded.

"I'm off to work…" She'd called.

"You're going?" Mary Margaret had replied, disappointment clear in her features.

"Yeah, well… There could be trouble, with all the weather. Car accidents, that sort of thing. Might as well keep an eye on the store, you know?"

"Yeah…" She'd smiled brightly then. "I'll have all kinds of goodies when you get back!"

"I can't wait."

Now she sat moping in the silent office, staring at nothing. Still, she was unable to shake the idea that there was trouble brewing… The encounter with Mr. Gold on the street had rattled her, she decided. It was always strange to see him interacting with normal people. He seemed so alien in a town like this, and always had a hand in something going on.

She thought of the poor, desperate young man who had been arguing with him, wondering what his whole story was. Losing a farm seemed like a terrible blow, and unnecessary. What would a man like Gold do with a farm, anyway?

**V:**

"And you're just going to… to give them to me?" Jack stared at the pouch dangling from the creature's hand, expression dubious.

"Consider it a good-will gesture~" The creature sang, twitching his fingers so the bag danced in the air enticingly. "I do a little something for you now, and you do something in return for me, later."

His hand hesitated over the bag, before he drew back a pace. He considered the small, golden man who had sailed out of the tree line, promising him salvation in a small leather pouch. "And what would I have to do later?"

"Why, whatever I ask you too~" He declared, face splitting into a manic grin as a shrill giggle tore free of his throat. At Jack's darkened expression, he grew more serious for a moment. "…When the day comes that I want something of you, I will ask you to do it. And I will say 'please'. That is how you will know I have made my request."

It sounded reasonable enough. Jack's mind raced, trying to think of all the things the pouch could contain, trying to decide what the worst thing the creature could demand of him could be. The possibilities were endless.

Finally, he nodded. "…I accept." He declared, taking the offered bag, discovering it was strangely warm to the touch.

The creature giggled again, clapping his hands together in pleasure. "Very good! Very good! Now you enjoy that little bag. Those are some mighty fine trinkets I'm parting with today!"

Fingers trembling with more than cold, Jack untied the bit of leather fastening the pouch. He turned it into his open palm, eyes closing briefly with anticipation. What could it be? Gold? Rubies? Emeralds?

Five small objects tumbled into his hand, feeling warm to the touch, and heavy. He opened his eyes. "…_Beans_?" He clenched his fist around them, turning to the golden man, seizing him by his collar with his free hand. "You give me a bag of _beans_?"

The creature laughed again, a violent sound that threatened to take the two of them to their knees with the force of it. He raised his arms, shaking a finger at him. "Not just any beans, dearie! Those are magic beans! Guaranteed to grow, overnight, in any weather! They give off other magic beans, as well! Once you farm them, they'll be yours forever. You'll want for nothing with those beans – not one thing!"

Jack opened his palm and stared at the five beans. They were bigger, fatter than any he had ever seen, faintly golden in the bright sunlight. They were heavy and they were warm. Slowly, he sat the strange man down, releasing him. "…They grow through anything?" He asked finally.

The wild giggle was back as the creature shook with amusement. "_Anything_." He promised.

**VI:**

Emma tossed another piece of popcorn up into the air, trying and failing to catch it with her open mouth. It landed in the floor behind her, and she sighed.

"It's nice to know our town is always so vigilantly defended, Sheriff."

She slammed all four legs of her chair back on the ground, feet sliding off the table as Regina strode in the door. She was dressed as impeccably as always. Emma wondered if she was freezing in a coat that form-fitting.

"Madam Mayor," She said blankly, crossing her arms to her chest. The bolt of cold air that followed the other woman in made her reconsider having removed her sweater.

"We can dispense with the pleasantries," She snapped, rubbing her hands through her gloves. "I've come for my son."

Emma regarded her, puzzled. "Henry? Haven't seen him."

"Nonsense, Sheriff Swan. There is no school today, as I'm sure you have surmised. Henry was in his bedroom when I drove over to the Town Hall, and when I returned, he was gone. Where else would he be on a day like this?"

"I don't know," She shrugged, indicating the room, empty but for the two of them. "But he's obviously not here."

"Miss Swan, if you believe you can undermine my authority in order to continue these clandestine meetings-"

"Whoa! Clandestine meetings? Geez, you make it sound like we're in some sort of cult."

Regina crossed her arms to her chest, one hip shifting out aggressively. "Well, let's just say I'm not too convinced that isn't true."

"I'm sure he's just with some friends or something," She replied, biting her lip when she realized that, sadly, Henry did not seem to have many friends. "Have you looked at the library?" She offered eventually.

"I tried there first. It's closed."

Emma pulled on her sweater before heading to the coat rack for her outdoor gear. "It's too cold for him to be at the playground. Have you tried the diner?"

"Where do you think you're going?" Regina trailed after her, body language still hostile.

"To look for Henry. You coming?" Emma held the door open invitingly, quirking an eyebrow at the other woman.

With an exasperated sigh, Regina ducked under her arm and outside. "I'll drive." She said.

"Nah, I'll drive. Because I'm the sheriff."

**VII:**

Jack sat at the hearth again, dejectedly poking at the lone, grey coal with a stick. He leaned his head gloomily on his hand, propped on his leg by his elbow. The last faint ember in the hearth trickled out, and he sighed. Leaning back, he stared up at the patched, threadbare ceiling. Across the room, he could hear his mother's raspy, labored breathing.

He realized that light shone faintly through the hole in the corner of the roof, as the sun slowly inched overhead. Mind feeling as numb as his body, he stood slowly, hobbling stiff-jointed over to the door.

The night before, he had spent hours scraping at the snow to uncover a few scant feet of frozen soil. His fingers had bled by the time he had forced the beans into the earth. After that, it had been a long, bitterly cold wait.

He stopped dead when he stepped outside of the house. There, in the cleared earth beside the house, stood five of the strongest, tallest beanstalks he had ever seen. Each grew over his head, nearly seven feet tall, needing no stakes to keep them upright. He could see fat, golden beans hanging heavy on every one.

"Mother!" Jack screamed in delight, rushing back into the house. His mother, groggy and confused, clung to him as he shook her. Laughing like a madman, he scooped her up, hugging her tightly. "Mother, it worked! It worked! We're saved! We're saved!"

She petted his arm, smiling herself. "I knew you'd save us, my boy. I never doubted."

As Jack began to harvest the incredible beans, chattering about his plans to hurry to town for coal, for food, and for new clothes, the concept of a price never crossed his mind. It would not be until many years later that he would really remember the debt he still owed.

**VIII:**

Henry took a solid bite of the apple, one hand in his pockets as he trailed the room, looking from display case to display case. Mr. Gold glanced up at the sound, shaking his head slightly, before leaning back down over the tools spread in front of him. "One of Regina's?" He asked, fitting part of the case back together delicately.

"No, she bought it at the store. Emma cut her trees down, remember?"

He chuckled at that, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "Ah, yes, I remember now. Such a spirited woman, your mother."

"Do you mean Emma or… or Regina?" He asked, voice working around his adoptive mother's name clumsily.

He regarded Henry with a look of such intensity that Henry felt he'd said something wrong. "…I believe you know which one," Gold said ambiguously.

Nodding his head faintly, Henry continued his circuit of the room. "How come you collect all this stuff?" He asked finally.

"Well, I'm a pawnbroker, dear. That's what I do."

"Yeah, but… what made you decide to be a pawnbroker? You could have done anything, right? You're like… rich and stuff."

"And stuff," He agreed, attention back on the walkie talkie as he frowned at it. Removing the cover again, he resumed twisting wires inside with his pair of spindly tweezers. "But I find I rather like collecting things. Every object has a story to tell, same as people do."

"You like telling stories?" Henry said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Mr. Gold met eyes with him then, smiling his faint, sharp smile. "One might say that is what all people do best."

"I like stories," Henry said carefully. "Fairy tales, mostly."

"I find they can be quite…" He inclined his head, hair falling into his face for a moment, "…Instructive."

"What's your favorite fairy tale?" Henry asked, coming to lean on the counter again.

Mr. Gold did not answer. He replaced the cover once more, flicking the switch on the side to power on the device. With a squeal of static, the walkie talkie blared back to life. Both of them jumped and then smiled at one another. Gold handed it back across the counter, his smile fading as he looked at the door over Henry's shoulder.

"Henry…" He said finally, voice far-away, eyes narrowing. "Go into the other room for a moment, if you please." He pushed the walkie talkie into his hands, still staring at the door.

Henry looked up at him, surprised, the smile fading from his face as well. "Mr. Gold?"

"Go now. I'll explain later."

Looking nervous, Henry slipped behind the counter and went into the small office in the back, leaving the door open a crack in order to peek out. A dark-haired man stepped into the shop, his coat patched and threadbare; hair dripping with melted snow.

Mr. Gold leaned both hands on the counter, posture aggressive, tone annoyed. "Mr. Stockhard. I believe I made myself quite clear this morning…"

"Give me the deed." The man said, voice thick with emotion. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders shaking with cold or something else.

Gold's face resolved into an even harder line and he said nothing.

"Give me back the deed!" He repeated, sounding hysterical now.

"Mr. Stockhard…" Mr. Gold began, but he trailed off when the man stepped forward suddenly, lunging against the counter.

Henry heard the rattle and click, not sure what he was hearing until Mr. Gold raised his hands carefully. The man took a step back, keeping the pistol trained on the other man.

"I don't want to hurt you…" He began miserably.

Gold's face softened somewhat, and he flexed his fingers, the gesture becoming almost placating. "I know that you don't. Now just put the gun down, and…"

"YOU GIVE ME THE DAMN DEED!" He exploded, hand shaking on the gun, tears falling down his face now.

Gold said nothing, glancing over at the door for a split second, meeting Henry's eyes.

Just then, the walkie talkie in the boy's hand blared to life, Emma's voice loud in the quiet of the pawnshop. _/"Henry? Hey, Henry! Pick up… Where are you, kid?"/_


	3. Act Two

**Collateral Damages**

_NB: I'm writing this episode in something like a TV show format - teaser, four acts, and a tag. Trying to put my degree in fairy tales to some kind of use._

**Act Two:**

**I:**

The harvest took the better part of the day, fingers of red creeping over the horizon as the last worker sat their bushels at his feet. Jack did not even bother attempting to count them - some would be sold by weight at the market the next morning, others dried for safe keeping over the winter.

The farm was quite prosperous these days - they had demolished the old cottage, building a fine manor in its place, with new barns and outbuildings to accommodate his fine animals and even finer crops. True to the creature's words, the beans had continued to grow, creating more and more of the wonderful bean. Eating just a handful left one feeling as full as though after a feast. They grew in all manner of weather, never spoiling, never stolen by insects or birds.

Jack had become the most prosperous man in the valley. His mother's health had returned, courtesy of the best care money could buy - the skilled doctor dwarf, all the way from the neighboring kingdom, had nearly cured her of her ailment. He looked to her now, watching her comb her fingers through a basket of beans, smiling at him. She never took a thing for granted, his mother. He admired her for it.

As the workers said their farewells, heading over the hill to the cabins built there for their homes, he settled into his favorite chair on the porch. Lifting his pipe to his lips, he watched the sun set, low and fat on the horizon, and thought of markets, of beans, and of the pretty girls he would court tomorrow in the town.

He saw the carriage break the crest of the hill long before he heard it, and it did not occur to him until the last moment that it intended to stop at his door.

The carriage was made of a gleaming, dark wood, driven and attended by men in fearsome black armor. Black horses stamped and shook at the end of the lines, finer even than those of his stables.

He stood as the door opened, coming to offer his hand to the inhabitant as courtesy requested. His mother stood at his side, hands fisting in her apron with nervousness.

Jack felt a light, gloved touch on his fingers, before the woman stepped from the carriage and into view. She was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her glossy black hair spilled out from beneath her red leather hat, curling around her shoulders and down her back. Her gown was the deepest crimson, almost the colour of the sky now. Her red lips curved in a smile that was generous, but that did not reach her eyes.

"Jack of the Beanstalks," She said, her voice harder than it was sweet. "I've heard so much about you..."

**II:**

Henry took several steps back reflexively, kicking the door shut with his foot. Clamping a hand over the walkie-talkie, he whispered fiercely, "Emma, I'm at Mr. Gold's. Come quick, there's a man with a..."

_/"Henry, slow down! You're at Gold's? What's wrong?"/ _

He backed away as the door shook on its hinges. He could hear Mr. Gold's voice, loud, insistent, before it trailed off again abruptly.

The door opened finally and the man strode into the room, snatching the walkie-talkie from his suddenly lax hands. He could see Mr. Gold lying sprawled in the floor of the shop, half-leaning awkwardly against the counter, eyes closed.

Emma's voice blared through the device again and the man hurriedly shut it off. He was still holding the pistol, regarding Henry with a furious expression.

Doing his best to smile, Henry looked up at him. "...Hi."

"You're the Mayor's kid." The man said numbly.

"I'm Henry." He answered, searching the man's face. "Is Mr. Gold..."

"He fell down." The man replied, glancing over his shoulder at the other man. Leaning past Henry, he grabbed the phone cord where it plugged into the device. Jerking it, he yanked it free, severing it.

Henry stepped away from him, hands in his sleeves.

"Don't move," The man ordered sharply. Turning, he caught hold of Gold by his shoulders. Twisting, he managed to turn him around, dragging him into the office.

Gold groaned, one hand coming up to feel at the back of his head, wincing at the pain there before yelping when he was released to fall to the floor again.

The man retreated away from them, hands in his hair, pressing the gun flat against his own temple as he rocked back and forth. "Just... Just stay there a minute." He turned and went into the shop, shutting the door.

Immediately, Henry knelt beside Mr. Gold, who managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "...He hit me..." He said faintly, touching his head again.

His fingers came back red and Henry sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry... I didn't know she'd call me..."

"It's all right, Henry." He looked around, frowning when he realized his cane was still in the floor of the shop. "The phone on my desk..."

"He broke it."

"Of course he did." Mr. Gold put a hand to his eye, pressing down for a moment before blinking rapidly. "There's a window over there. Why don't you see if you can open it?" He gestured towards the high window beside the desk.

Nodding, Henry climbed onto the desk, pressing both hands against the glass, trying to force it open. "...I think it's painted shut," He said finally.

"Ah, well." He replied, still sounding faint.

"Are you okay?" Henry asked softly, crouching down beside him. He gingerly touched the man's hair, wincing sympathetically. The wound was still bleeding, but not as badly as it had seemed at first.

"He hit me with the pistol." Gold said finally.

"Do you think you have a concussion?"

He considered, exhaling shakily. "...I don't know."

Henry shrugged off his sweatshirt, pressing it to the back of his head. "Can you hold this here?" He asked, taking Gold's hand and leading it up to his head. "I'm going to look around."

**III:**

Jack sat nervously at his own table, unsure how to proceed in the presence of so fine a lady. She sat across from him, reclining in the simple chair with the air of a woman on a throne. From her satchel, she produced an apple, one of the darkest, juiciest he had ever seen. "Apple?" She asked softly, arching an eyebrow.

He took it numbly, turning it over and over in his hands without tasting it. Finally, she bridged her fingers in her lap and spoke.

"I have come a long way to find you, Jack of the Beanstalks. It seems that fortune has been quite good to you this last few years."

He nodded, glancing at his mother where she stood in the doorway, hands still in her apron.

"I have heard that your magic beans make a man full with less than a handful."

He nodded again.

"I have heard they grow in any weather."

Again.

"I have heard they never wither on the vine nor rot when harvested."

"Yes, that's true," he whispered.

"I have heard they were given to you by Rumpelstiltskin."

He looked up, surprised. He had told no one save his mother about the strange golden man who had met him that day in the woods.

"And what did he ask in return for your good fortune, Jack of the Beanstalks?" She asked, voice sultry and venomous at the same time. She leaned on the table now, seeming to devour the space between them.

He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Nothing..." He stammered finally. "Nothing at all."

"Nothing at all..." She repeated, her voice clearly broadcasting her disbelief.

"He said I would... I'd owe him a favor. He'd collect it from me when he decided what he wanted."

Just as suddenly, her abrupt invasion of his personal space lessened, as she seemingly retreated back into herself. He could feel a cold sweat on his brow, running down to his neck and back.

"Interesting," She said finally.

**IV:**

Emma thumbed off the walkie-talkie, confused. "Huh."

Regina stared at her expectantly, face frozen in a brittle smile. "Well?"

Emma gripped the steering wheel in both hands, the walkie-talkie falling into her lap. She looked straight ahead where the snow continued to swirl through the streets. "You heard him. He said he was at Gold's. I couldn't make the rest of it out." She frowned. "Why would he be there?"

"I can't imagine why Henry keeps half of the company he chooses to," Regina offered smartly.

She rolled her eyes at her. "Yeah, but didn't he sound kind of... scared?"

**V:**

"Stay away from the door, Henry..." Gold called to him, eyes closing as he leaned back against the desk, still holding the balled-up sweatshirt to his wound.

Henry climbed back on the desk, trying the window again. Looking around, he saw a metal clock on the shelf beside him. It was weighted, heavy, and he slammed it against the glass.

The shock of it reverberated up his arms, and he dropped it, jumping back to avoid it falling on his foot. The window looked no worse for wear. Undeterred, he tried again, lifting it a second time.

The door opened and the man strode in, grabbing him by his collar. The clock fell between them into the floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He snarled, shaking him. Henry stared back at him, wide-eyed. "I'm trying to think! What are you doing?"

"Leave him alone! He's just a boy!" Mr. Gold shouted, struggling to get to his feet. His bad leg failed to hold him and he fell back down against the desk.

Releasing Henry, the man wheeled on Gold, kicking him between the ribs.

The pawnbroker doubled over, gasping, and the man buried a hand in his hair, wrenching his head up. "What do you know about it?" He cried, voice high and desperate again, "What do you know about leaving people alone?"

"You made a business decision," Gold hissed, one hand coming up to smash against his face.

They wrestled for a few moments, but the younger man clearly had the upper hand. Gold could not get his weight under him enough to successfully fight him off.

Henry sat back beneath the window where he had been dropped, considering trying to dart around the men to the door, when he heard banging on the door outside.

"Henry? Mr. Gold?" Emma's voice rang out as the doorknob rattled. "Why is this door locked? It's the middle of the day."

Both men froze, Gold dangling from his shirt from the younger man's grip. Henry launched himself past them, shouting, "Emma! There's a guy in here! He's got a gun!"

The man slammed into him from behind, knocking him to his stomach behind the counter of the shop. Their struggle was even more one-sided and Henry rolled onto his back, going still when the man raised the gun at him. He let his hands fall on either side of his head in surprise, eyes huge.

"I don't want to hurt you," The man said, flinching when Emma continued banging on the door.

"Henry! Open this door!"

Jerking to his feet, the man dragged Henry back into the room, flinging him into Gold, who caught him to the best of his ability. They both knelt there in the floor, Gold wrapping one arm around Henry's shoulders, pulling him into himself protectively.

Running a hand through his hair, the man pulled out the walkie-talkie and thumbed it on. "Sheriff," He said finally. "Please stop banging on the door."

**VI:**

Jack met the woman's eyes finally, his hands clenched around the apple she had given him. "What is it you want from me?"

"You are the only man I have ever met to receive something from Rumpelstiltskin without having to pay for it upfront. I find that fascinating. He must have taken a liking to you, I suspect."

"He... He did seem rather nice," he said awkwardly.

She seemed amused by that. "Yes, I'm sure he did." Reaching out, she let one fingernail scrape lightly over his hand. "I have a proposition for you. There's something in his estate that I want. But I cannot go and retrieve it myself. So instead, I shall send you in my place."

"What? Why me?" He cried, jerking his hands away. The apple rolled onto the table between them and her head snapped to the side, watching it go.

"Because I myself have taken quite an interest in you, Jack of the Beanstalks. And he trusts you. He won't suspect you of all people to be working for me. You will tell him your conscious requires you to make good on the deal you owe him, and when the time comes, you will take the Golden Harp and bring it to me. Do I make myself clear?"

He swallowed, doing his best to banish his fear along with the overabundance of saliva his mouth had suddenly produced. "...And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll destroy this farm and everything that profits from it." Her eyes slid from his to the woman in the doorway. "Do we have a deal?"

**VII:**

Emma took a step back when the walkie-talkie in her pocket blared to life.

An unfamiliar voice rasped over the speakers, distorted and patchy. _/"Sheriff, please stop banging on the door."/_

"Who is this?" She replied, frowning. She peered into the shop, but could see nothing through the paper-covered window.

_/"I'm not here to hurt anybody, but I will if I have to."/_ He replied.

"Whoa, whoa," She said, lifting the device to her face, turning towards the shop again. "What are you saying? Where is Henry? What are you doing?"

_/"I just needed to get back what was mine."/_ He said, voice miserable.

"You're the guy from this morning," She replied, realization dawning. She could see Regina watching her from the car, holding her hands palm up in a questioning gesture. She waved her away, "Your name's Stockhard, right? Tell me what's going on in there. I just want to help."

The man sounded as though he were crying. _/"I just wanted to get back what's mine. He's going to take it from me. Everything I worked for."/_

In the background, she heard Mr. Gold's cutting voice, _/"Everything I gave you is the only thing I'll take back."/_

She heard the man snarl and then there was silence on the line then. Her stomach sinking, she thumbed the button, calling, "Hey, hey! Stockhard! Talk to me!"

Finally, the man responded. _/"I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt.../"_

"Who is hurt, Stockhard? Is Henry there? Who is hurt?"

_/"Gold. Gold is here. I... Henry's here too. He's okay, though."/_ Suddenly, his voice hardened as though he were getting a hold of himself. _/"But he won't be, if you try anything. I just need some time... Time to think. But don't try anything, or... Or I'll shoot them both."/ _


	4. Act Three

**Collateral Damages**

_NB: I'm writing this episode in something like a TV show format - teaser, four acts, and a tag. Trying to put my degree in fairy tales to some kind of use._

**Act Three:**

**I:**

He waited until well after nightfall to make his move. Somewhere, a wolf howled, deep in the woods. Jack shivered, pulling his dark cloak tighter around himself. The castle rose before him, intimidating in the wan moonlight. Few lights burned in the windows.

The Queen's intelligence had been quite thorough. She claimed he lived alone in this vast estate, keeping the castle by magic alone. He slept, like any other creature, and that was when Jack would creep inside and steal the Golden Harp.

She had been quite explicit on what route to take, and where he would find it. He made his way through the hedge into the gardens easily enough, careful not to touch any of the strange, flowering trees that swept low along the path. He found the cellar door just as she'd promised, and made his way into the castle from beneath the kitchens.

Once inside, he drew his hood back from his face, looking around carefully. The castle seemed deserted. The hearths were cold, as though no fired had burned in the grates for some time. Slowly, he made his way on tiptoe through the dusty corridors, seeking the treasure room off of the banquet hall.

The walls were lined with thick tapestries, depicting all manner of beauty and motifs from myths and legends. He took care not to look too closely, mindful of enchantments and time wasted. Eventually, he found a portion of the castle that seemed more commonly used, and made his way into the banquet hall.

Here, treasures lined the walls, opulent gems alongside children's playthings, all equally on display. In one corner, a large spinner's wheel waited, baskets of straw haphazardly surrounding the base. The hearth here, at least, was well-used, a low fire still burning lightly, embers faint.

Jack pulled back his hood, glancing around. The room was empty.

On the far side, he saw a heavy, ornately-carved door. Surely this must be the treasure room. He tested the large iron ring set in the side, surprised at how easily the door swung outwards on its hinges.

Inside, he found the treasures of a thousand kingdoms. Gold lined every wall, in piles and heaps, precious stones and crowns, goblets and trinkets. Faint torchlight flickered outside, shedding light into the dim space, barely enough to see by. On a shelf in one corner, he spied that familiar shape of a harp, wrapped in a bit of brown leather.

Moving carefully through the precious refuse splattered about, Jack took hold of it, tugging back a bit of the cloth to confirm the gold underneath. He looked around, suddenly concerned there might be more than one golden harp in this trove, but he could see no other.

With a deep breath, he slipped the harp into his satchel, turning and exiting the room. The door swung closed behind him, and he jumped, not realizing he had touched it.

Closing his eyes for a moment to get his bearings, Jack crossed the room, intending to hurry back to the kitchens and out the way he'd come.

"Leaving so soon?"

His blood chilled in his veins when he heard that sing-song voice. Whirling, Jack saw the creature, seated in the sole high-backed chair at the table, knees drawn up, hands resting lightly on them. He toyed with his blackened fingernails, smiling up at him impishly.

"And here I was hoping we could have a little _chat_."

**II:**

Stockhard turned off the walkie-talkie, returning it to his pocket.

He turned to where Gold sat against the desk, one hand on his bloody lip, his dark eyes murderous despite the precariousness of his position. Henry knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Gold wrapped his arm around him again, drawing him further away from the armed man.

"I think it's time you let the boy go," Gold said, voice quiet and even. "He's nothing to do with this and she won't leave as long as he's here."

"She wouldn't leave you either," Stockhard said, rubbing his face again.

"Then we negotiate from there. But the boy goes free."

"The boy stays!" He snarled, taking several steps towards them aggressively.

Henry flinched despite himself, curling closer to Mr. Gold. The pawnbroker did not move, staring up at him with the same fierce expression, as though, despite their predicament, he was still the one in control. "What is it you want, Mr. Stockhard? The deed to your farm? That won't help you out there with the lovely sheriff, now will it? So what are you hoping to accomplish here?"

"I just want it to all work out! I want things to be the way they were!"

"There never was any way things were before, Mr. Stockhard. The pleasant life you think you had has been nothing but an illusion," He felt Henry's eyes on his face, and he continued, "It was never real because it was never yours. All you accomplished, I gave to you. You failed to repay me, and... Well, there's a price for that, isn't there?"

**III:**

Jack stood stock-still as the little man suddenly leapt to his feet, in front of him before he could blink despite the space that had been between them.

"I remember you..." Rumpelstiltskin breathed, leaning into his personal space, expression severe despite the smile playing across his lips. "Oh, yeah... How's your cow?"

"...It's... still dead..." He managed to gasp out.

"Awww, such a shame," The creature tutted, turning his back on him to prance a few feet away. "Speaking of shame!" He spun back dramatically, lifting his arms with flourish, "I can't help but wonder what would cause the beneficiary of one of my... wonderful gifts... to resort to robbery~"

"I... I was sent here," Jack stammered, feeling stupid and slow-witted. He felt as tongue-tied and clumsy as he had in the presence of the Queen and wondered if this was what magic felt like.

"Sent, dearie? And by whom?"

"...A lady in a black coach... She... She visited my farm..."

The creature's features split into a smile that was more snarl than anything else, a hair-raising cackle spilling out though his lips never seemed to move. "Of course; of course... And she asked you to take..." He danced his fingers across the air, wriggling each digit in sequence as he sniffed at the air delicately, "My Golden Harp..."

"She told me it was hers and that you'd stolen it."

"Yes, well, semantics, I suppose. You say 'steal', I say 'acquired as collateral'... Let's call the whole thing off, shall we?"

Jack took a few moments to calm his racing heart before asking, "What will you do to me?"

"Well, I considered turning you into a snail, of course..." The little man began, waving his hand absently. "But then I thought that'd be wasteful. You'd be all slimy and hard to see."

Jack gulped, but stood his ground, determined not to flee from the other man.

"So then I thought about making you a nice tree. You can never have too many trees, wouldn't you say?"

He thought of the mysterious, twisted trees lining the garden path - how they'd shuddered and groaned despite the lack of wind. "Trees are nice," He agreed finally.

"But then I thought how you'd throw off the whole symmetry of the garden, so I've decided to just let you go."

Jack swallowed again, unsure that he had heard correctly. "I'm sorry?"

"Well I do know that~" He sang, grinning again.

"You're just going to let me go?"

"Well, yeah," He replied simply. At the other man's confused expression, he sighed, elaborating, "I haven't collected my debt from you yet. I haven't asked for my favor. Until I do, you're of more use to me ... intact, shall we say, than otherwise."

"And what will your favor be?" Jack said, weak-kneed with relief as he leaned against the wall finally.

Rumpelstiltskin snorted, shrugging elaborately, "When I decide, you'll be the first to know..."

**IV:**

Henry cringed, burying his face in his arms as the man struck Mr. Gold across the face again.

The pawnbroker merely laughed, a ragged, raw sound. "Not very civilized, are we, Mr. Stockhard?" He spat, blood smearing across his hand as he tried to staunch it where it spilled from his mouth. He jerked his head, rolling his jaw before looking up defiantly. "It must be hard for you not to be the 'good guy'..."

Stockhard stepped backward, tears on his face again, and Henry looked up when he heard the gun click again. "Please don't..." He said softly, looking from one man to the other.

"He doesn't understand what he does to people. Or he doesn't care," Stockhard protested, raising the gun. His hand shook, but he locked his arm, steadying it.

Gold continued to stare at him, face drawn and unafraid. "I do business, Mr. Stockhard. You're the ones who gamble with your very lives. No one forces you to make deals. You were surviving, but you wanted more. I offered you a chance, and you wasted it. You were greedy, but you were acting of your own accord."

"We weren't surviving! We were freezing!" He snapped, voice rising hysterically.

Gold arched an eyebrow, his head tilting to the side expectantly.

The man pushed his free hand against his eye, shaking his head. "Wait... No, we were... I just... I wanted to expand the farm. I wanted to make a bit more money, for my mom. To give her something better..."

"An admiral ambition, Mr. Stockhard, but you overstepped your reach this time. You could have been comfortable and instead you wanted more."

"This isn't... this isn't my fault."

"But it isn't mine, either," He replied, voice losing that hard edge for just a moment.

After a long, tense moment, the man thumbed the safety back into place before lowering the gun. Turning, he stormed back into the main room of the shop, slamming the door.

The second it closed, Gold seemed to sag, letting his head drop back against the desk with a sigh. His mouth was still bleeding, and he licked at his lips, wincing.

"Are you okay?" Henry asked quietly, leaning over to scoop up the sweatshirt again, offering it to the man.

He took it with an expression of dazed surprise, blinking rapidly. "Yes, well. I believe I may have a concussion after all..." He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, swallowing. "…I'm a bit dizzy…" He admitted.

"You need to stop arguing with him." Henry said firmly, reaching out to touch his face with the sleeve of the shirt.

Gold blinked at him, surprised. "But he's wrong," He replied simply.

"Doesn't matter. He's going to kill you if he keeps hitting you."

"Would that be so bad?" He murmured, taking the shirt and wiping at his face with limited success.

"Yeah, it kind of would be."

He snorted softly, nodding his head, which made him clench his eyes shut in pain for a moment. "You're a nice boy, Henry," He said quietly.

"Thanks."

He settled against the desk, glancing at him sideways, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "In some ways, you remind me... It can make it hard to look at you."

"Remind you of who?"

He did not say 'whom,' but he also did not as 'what,' Gold noted. "I wasn't always alone, you know."

"You have a son?" Henry guessed softly, eyes searching his face.

"Had a son," Gold corrected, closing his eyes. "It was a long time ago. I lost him."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

They both looked up when the doorknob turned.

**V:**

She was waiting on his doorstep when he arrived back at the farm. Jack slowed the horse and climbed off, relieved to see his mother in the doorway behind her.

"Do you have it?" She snapped, all traces of gentleness or propriety gone. In the cold light of morning, her skin was white, her expression hard. She looked sinister in her blood-red gown. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

Wordlessly, he held out the bundle to her. She took it in both hands, seemingly surprised by the weight. She unwrapped it fully, turning the harp over and over in her hands. Finally, she looked up, smiling. "Well done."

With a snap of her fingers, she drew her guards up around her, stalking towards her waiting carriage. The attendants and horses stood just as they had when Jack had left them the night before.

He hurried to the doorway, wrapping his arm around his mother's shoulders, trying to ignore the way her body shook against his. He stared at the carriage, expression as blank as he could make it.

She leaned out of the doorway, waving as though to a friend. "Goodbye, Jack of the Beanstalks. May fortune continue to shine upon your... accomplishments."

And with that, they were away. Jack sank to his knees, and his mother went with him, sweeping him into her embrace. "It's done now, Jack. She's gone. It's over."

He shook his head, combing his fingers through his hair. "No," He replied despondently. "It's not over yet..."

**VI:**

"Get up," The man snapped, pointing the gun at Henry. He jumped to his feet, wringing his hands together. He glanced down when he felt Gold's hand on his arm.

"Don't do as he says, Henry." Gold said quietly, eyes on the man, expression grim.

"We're leaving. I've got to go. To get out of town. I need him to make them let me go." Stockhard explained, almost sounding as though he were asking permission.

Gold shook his head. "You can't take him with you. He's just a child. He has no business being mixed up in this. I'll go."

"You can barely even walk!" He snapped, reaching forward to grab onto Henry's other arm.

"But I can _drive_," Gold said fiercely, clenching his hand tighter.

With a grimace, he rolled forward, onto his knees. Leaning heavily on both Henry and the desk, he managed to get to his feet, shoulders and arm muscles quaking with the effort. He paused to rest against the desk, wiping the sudden sweat from his neck, shaking his hair from his face.

"Take me with you, and I'll drive us out of town. You can do what you like with me afterwards. But the boy stays here."

Stockhard opened his mouth to refuse, and Gold caught him with a hard stare. "_**Please**_."


	5. Act Four

**Collateral Damages**

_NB: I'm writing this episode in something like a TV show format - teaser, four acts, and a tag. Trying to put my degree in fairy tales to some kind of use._

**Act Four:**

**I:**

Emma lowered the phone as the man on the other end terminated the call. She turned back to where Regina was huddled alongside the running sheriff's car, rubbing her hands together, expression anxious.

"Well?" She demanded.

"They can't get through the snowstorm. They said the Interstate's closed halfway to Boston and back. They're sending for snowplows, but they don't know how much time that will take."

"That's... That's not an acceptable answer!" Regina insisted.

Emma swiped her hand over her face, removing her hat for a moment to rub at her hair. "It's the only one I've got! Trust me, I want a SWAT unit here, just as much as you do, but I can't magic them through this snow!"

The mayor's expression tightened and she turned away, crossing her arms tightly to her chest. Sighing, Emma came closer to her, putting one hand on her shoulder. "Don't touch me!" Regina snapped, stepping away.

"Hey," She said firmly, turning the other woman to face her, squeezing lightly at her shoulder. "We're going to get them out of this. It's going to be okay."

"You don't know that!" Regina replied, sounding more frightened and human than Emma had ever heard her. Her eyes were wet and she seemed close to breaking down. "He could be doing anything - _anything _to him right now!"

"Mr. Gold would never let him hurt him."

She laughed then, wiping at her eyes with her gloved hand, smearing her mascara a bit. "Oh, really? What would that old devil do for me? I know you like to argue with me on this, Sheriff Swan, but he is my son."

"He's my son, too." She said, both hands on her shoulders now, eyes level with hers, doing her best to radiate confidence. "And we're going to get him back."

**II:**

Stockhard stared hard at Mr. Gold, an expression caught between surprise and anger warring across his face.

"Take me, and leave the boy. _Please_," Gold repeatedly firmly.

Henry looked from one man to the other, swallowing hard. Gold's hand dug tight into his shoulder, and he could feel the man shaking from the effort of keeping himself upright in his current state. The other man still held his other arm, down by the wrist. He held the gun loosely at his side.

Finally, Stockhard spun away, releasing Henry. Gold pulled him backwards, out of the man's immediate reach, taking a wavering step in front of him on his good leg. Without leaning on Henry for support, he looked even worse. "My cane," he said softly.

Nodding absently, Stockhard went out into the main part of the shop, returning with the black-handled cane, hesitating before holding it out to him. He stepped back and cocked the gun at him again. "Don't try anything!" He warned.

Gold smiled, a tight expression turned into a grimace as he shifted his weight from the table to the cane. "I don't believe that will be a problem, I can assure you."

He turned to glance at the boy behind him, smile wan, but more sincere. "Henry. Thank you for your assistance. I apologize for all of this."

"It's... It's okay..." He said finally, reaching up to touch his arm briefly.

Gold nodded and squared his shoulders, turning back towards their captor. "Shall we?"

**III:**

Emma and Regina both spun around as the shop's bell jangled. The sound cut through the clear, crisp air, almost painfully loud on the empty street.

After a moment, Mr. Gold stepped into view. His face was a mess, blood staining his mouth, smeared across his cheek and down his throat. His hair was completely disheveled, sticking up on the left side in the back, a second trail of blood running past his ear. He was pale, wavering on his feet and Emma hurried towards him, expression pure concern.

He shuffled forward a step, raising his free arm to wave her back. He shook his head once, and this seemed to cost him his fragile balance. Suddenly, Stockhard appeared behind him, catching his left arm in one hand, pulling him back against his chest. The move kept Gold upright and allowed him to bury the barrel of a pistol in his hair at his right temple.

"Don't move, please," The man called.

Emma stopped, stepping backwards, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. "Okay. Okay. Let's just take this slow."

"That would be advisable..." Gold murmured, his expression pinched.

"Shut up!" The man snapped, shaking him, making him fall against him again, completely reliant on the other man to hold him up.

"Where's Henry?" Regina burst out finally, hands gripping the roof of the police car she stood partially behind.

"He's inside," Stockhard said, jerking his head back at the pawnshop, making Gold wince as he was pulled too. "He's fine."

"Mr. Gold...?" Emma asked.

"He's fine," He assured her, smiling faintly. "He hasn't been harmed."

"That's good," Emma said, returning her attention to the man with the gun. "Mr. Stockhard, I know you're a good man. You don't want to hurt anyone..." She glanced at Gold's passive, unreadable face. "You don't want to hurt anyone anymore than you already have, anyway. You told me that, remember? So why not put the gun down and let him go?"

"I can't do that," He replied miserably, pushing the other man forward.

Gold's expression twisted into one of surprise and he swung his cane forward awkwardly, trying to catch his weight as he was pushed out onto the sidewalk. Stockhard clung to him tightly, keeping the gun against his head.

"…You're not making this easy for me," The pawnbroker muttered, trying to stand on his own with limited success.

"I said shut up!" He replied, making him flinch as he shook him again.

Gold seemed to waver for a moment, and when he opened his eyes, he appeared disoriented.

"Hey!" Emma called, returning the man's attention to her, "Let's talk about this. Just let him go, and then we can all go home safely."

"You're not going to let me go! You're going to arrest me! I'll lose everything! I can't... I can't lose everything again!"

"No one is going to do anything to hurt anyone, okay?" She said gently, her expression one of almost motherly concern as she began to advance slowly. "It's going to be okay, Mr. Stockhard, I promise. You're going to be fine. It's going to be okay."

Gold grunted as he was shoved forward, falling against the hood of the police car as Stockhard bore down on him. The man fisted one hand in his hair, digging the gun into the back of his head where it met his neck.

"Get back, both of you, or I'll kill him!" Stockhard cried, pulling Gold up at an awkward angle, trying to keep him between himself and the sheriff.

Emma glanced at Regina, who looked to her uncertainly. Biting her lip, Emma looked back at the two men, regretting having left the keys in the ignition. Nodding at Regina, they both took a few steps back. She stepped halfway behind Regina, using her body to hide her hand as she lowered it to her own gun.

"Take the car," She said firmly, "But let him go."

"I have to take him," He replied, pulling him up again. Gold blinked, shaking his head, seeming to forget he was even holding his cane as he was pushed again.

"You don't need a hostage. We'll let you drive out of here if you let him go."

"Sheriff Swan!" Regina said, surprised, turning to look at her.

As she moved, Stockhard looked up, eyes widening when he saw Emma's hand on her gun. At that same moment, Gold's leg buckled, sending him to his knee on the pavement, dragging the man behind him with him.

Emma raised her own gun when she saw Stockhard's arm twist.

The gunshots echoed loudly in the quiet street, as another flurry of flakes began to fall.

**IV:**

Jack roused his mother from her bedroom at dawn. He implored her to go through the house, collecting only what she needed, what she cherished the very most out of all it contained. Confused, she did as she was told, filling up five baskets with clothing, herbs, medicines, and what scant heirlooms they had managed to redeem after their new-found wealth.

He followed her outside, carrying only two bags of his own, which he threw in the back of their wagon. Their best horses already stood harnessed and ready to go. The rest of the animals he turned out, sending them heading over the hills towards the settlement of workers who kept the farm.

Finally, Jack lifted his mother into the wagon; onto the padded cushion he had installed to help her travel comfortably. "What's going on, Jack?" She asked softly, wringing her hands in her apron nervously.

He stilled her hands, clutching them tightly in his own, looking up at her. His expression was not troubled. In fact, he seemed relieved. "We tried to cheat, mother. We needed a miracle, and it was given to us. But we went beyond that, didn't we? We wanted more."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"The beans. The magic. We should never have kept on. We should never have sold them, profited from them. We should have used them as a gift and been grateful. I understand that now. There's a price to pay for everything. We have wealth we didn't earn."

"So what will you do?" She asked, looking up at the hills where the sun began to rise higher and higher.

"We let it go," He said simply.

Releasing her hands, he turned and walked back to the house, withdrawing his pipe pouch from his tunic. Striking the flint, he lit the end of the pipe. Once it began to burn, he held it to the roof of the porch, shaking the pipe until a burning ember fell onto the tarred wood.

It didn't take long for the ember to ignite the treated surface. His mother made a soft sound, turning her face away when she realized what was happening. Within a few moments, the porch was ablaze, the fire spreading higher and deeper into the grand wooden house.

Jack watched it burn until he was content the fire would claim it all.

He turned back to the wagon, climbing aboard, curving one arm around his mother as she cried. "Shh... Don't worry, Mother. This is for the best. Our next happy ending, we'll earn ourselves. You'll see."

She sighed, curling against him, wrapping her arms around him tenderly. "Oh, Jack. You're a good boy. You always were."

He nodded, smiling at her with a tenderness of his own. Jerking the reigns, he sent the horses off. They moved at a brisk clip, more than happy to put the burning building far behind them.

They reached the top of the hill just as the sun broke fully over it, washing the road in the brilliant light of morning. She turned one last time to look at their burning homestead as they left it behind completely.

"So much for living happily ever after..." She murmured.

He transferred the reigns to one hand, closing the other over hers, rubbing her knuckles gently. "But we'll live, Mother. We'll live."

**V:**

Dropping to her knees, Emma made a sound of distress when she realized the snow was already beginning to melt under the pool of warm blood seeping into it.

"Mr. Gold?" She cried, turning him onto his back. He cried out, head jerking back, nearly slamming into the pavement before she caught it in her gloved hand. She realized he was bleeding from the back of the head as well. A concussion would explain his sudden weakness and disorientation, she realized. Shaking him more firmly, she called his name again.

"I'm not deaf, Ms. Swan..." He murmured, head lolling back against her thighs as she pulled him closer to her.

"Oh, no, you don't!" She snapped, patting his cheek, making him open his eyes again. They were pain-glazed and unfocused. She cupped his chin in her hands, shaking him as much as she dared. "You can't pass out. You probably have a concussion."

"Yes..." He agreed, his right hand trailing down to touch his leg. He hissed in pain, curling onto his side at the sudden agony this caused.

"No, no, no, no, don't do that!" She cried, pulling him back to lie flat, gently. "You need to stay still. The doctors are on their way."

"He shot me..." He said dimly, sounding stunned. "He shot _me_…"

Looking up, she saw Henry in the doorway of the shop, looking pale and drawn, but otherwise, no worse for wear. Regina knelt in front of him, clinging to him, hands in his hair as she hugged him. He continued to stare over at them, and Emma tried to smile encouragingly, but it was hard to do so when cradling a man bleeding into the snow.

Behind her, she heard Stockhard groan, a horrible, choked sound. She glanced over her shoulder to see him lying on his back, one hand on his throat, trying to apply pressure to a wound he could no longer feel. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to Gold, who seemed as white as the snow around them should have been.

In the distance, she heard the wail of Storybrooke's only ambulance. Gold looked up at her, eyebrows drawn up in an expression of conspiratorially amused sorrow. "...Well, now... ...This has been a... a terrible day, hasn't it...?"

"We've had better," She agreed, hand still on his face. He clung to her arm with his uninjured hand, smiling faintly as he closed his eyes.


	6. Tag

**Collateral Damages**

_NB: I'm writing this episode in something like a TV show format - teaser, four acts, and a tag. Trying to put my degree in fairy tales to some kind of use._

**Tag:**

He knocked on the doorframe lightly, knuckles rapping against the plastic. Mr. Gold looked up from the book he was reading, his expression softening when he saw him. "Ah, Henry. ...To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The man quirked an eyebrow at the large bouquets of flowers he carried in either arm. "This one's from my mom." He said, gesturing at the campanula he carried. The other was a more standard arrangement of various bright flowers. "This one's from Emma."

"Of course," He said charitably, "Please, place them with the tokens from my other admirers," he said, indicating the single small basket of daisies sitting on the table by the window. Henry glanced at it, recognizing Mary Margaret Blanchard's distinctive, pleasant scrawl. He deposited both of his burdens before pulling the chair by the window over to sit at the bedside.

"How are you feeling?" He asked carefully.

Gold chuckled and gestured at his right shoulder, tightly bandaged, arm in a sling. "Ah, well, you know. It was a clean shot. Nothing vital. But it'll be some time before I can move around under my own steam again."

"I wanted to thank you, for everything that you did," Henry said softly, resting both his hands on the side of the bed.

The man's mouth worked into a brief, quirked smile. "It was really nothing."

"It was brave."

He looked up then, eyes widening as he searched the boy's face. His next smile was more self-depreciative. "Not really. Anyone would have done the same."

"Still. You did your best to protect me. So I wanted to thank you."

He nodded. "You're very welcome, Henry Mills." He turned to glance out the window, where yet more snow swirled across the rooftops. "And how have you been fairing? Doing well, I hope."

"I've had some bad dreams," He admitted, looking down at his hands. "My mom's making me see Archie like every day."

"Perhaps that's for the best."

"I guess so." He glanced up again, still keeping his head down. "Are _you_ going to be okay? I mean... Not just your arm and stuff."

He snorted, flexing the fingers of his left hand, studying the IV inserted there with an overly deliberate interest. "I suspect I'll survive. I'm rather good at that."

"I'm glad." Henry replied.

They sat in a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft clicking of the machine by the bedside and the sweep of wind outside the glass.

"You were wrong, you know," Henry said finally, fingers playing now with the edge of his scarf.

Mr. Gold looked up, expression inquisitive.

"You said it was wrong to need people - that relying on people makes you weak. That's not always true. We relied on Emma, and she saved us."

Gold chuckled faintly, looking down at his body in the hospital bed, eyebrow arched, "More or less."

"My point is that it's okay to need other people, Mr. Gold."

He shook his head sadly. "Not everyone deserves to, though."

Henry leaned on the bed again, crossing his arms to look up at him, perplexed.

He returned his attention to the window, silent for a while, before clearing his throat. "...You asked me before what my favorite fairy story was. I don't have one. But there is one I'm familiar with. Do you know the story of the King of Golden Mountain?"

Henry shook his head.

"Yes, well. It's a German tale. One of Grimm's. It's about an ordinary man who goes on an extraordinary journey, where he finds an enchanted castle and frees a beautiful princess from a spell and becomes a king. Ordinary enough for those kinds of tales, but it doesn't end there. Oh, no.

"You see, the man loves his wife, and together, they have the most beautiful son. And the man gets to thinking that he misses his own parents. He plans to visit them, using a magic ring. But before he goes, his wife warns him not to bring her or their son there with his magic, or they will be lost to him forever. He disobeys her, and wishes her before his parents so they can see what sort of man he's become.

"His wife, angry, leaves him. When he finally makes his way back to the Golden Mountain, he finds a wedding feast in progress and learns that she is about to replace him with another husband. In a rage, he uses his magic abilities to kill everyone there. The guests. His wife. His beautiful son. And so he sits alone on his throne - the King of Golden Mountain."

Henry regarded him for a long time, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he reached over to pat the man's hand gently. "You're not a bad person, Mr. Gold."

He smiled mirthlessly. "And what would you know of that?"

"I know."

"...Off you go," He said finally. "I need my beauty sleep."

Henry nodded and got to his feet, pushing the chair back from the bed, but not entirely against the wall where it had been. He hesitated in the doorway. "...Would it be all right if... if I came back to see you tomorrow?"

Mr. Gold gave another one of his many smiles, this one sad, but also warm, touched. "Yes, I think I'd like that, thank you."

Nodding, the boy opened the door and let himself out. In the hallway, Emma leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, studying the floor. She looked up when the door opened, face caught between relief and concern. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Henry said, pulling back on his mittens.

Emma gave one last look in the direction of the open door, smiling slightly, nodding at the man in the bed. Mr. Gold nodded back and closed his eyes, head resting against the pillows.

She turned back to her son, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. "Did he like the flowers?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good. That's good."

**AN:**

_Thanks, everyone who has been reading this. I'll be starting another story soon, which will be a bit different than this one. I've gotten such wonderful feedback on this, and I appreciate everyone who favorited and/or reviewed. I like getting prompts from people, so if you ever have an idea you'd like to see explored, drop me a line, and maybe we can get something together!_


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